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HOME BALLADS; 



DEVOTIONAL, SENTIMENTAL, HUMOROUS. 



By GEO. WHITE. 




CHICAGO: 

MOSES WARREN, 103 STATE STREET, 

1878. 







COPYRIGHT. 

1878. 

By R. G. White. 




P'oR Thy Sake, 

Love of God, 

Thy Will be Done, 

Faith, . . . . 

Wherefore for the Coming Day, 

Trust Him Altogether, 

Star of Faith, 

Mother, ... 

The River, . - - . 

The Other Side, 

Waiting for Me, 

By- AND By, 

Dawning, - . . . 

Sheltered, 

Galilee, . - . 

Mercy, . . - 

Sympathy, . . . - 

Hebrew Captives, 



5 
7 
9 

12 

14 
17 
19 

21 
24 
26 

29 

31 

33 
35 
37 
39 
41 
44 



A • Contents, 

It is Well, ------ 47 

Satan's Pocketbook, - - - - - - 49 

Sequel to Satan's Pocketbook, - - - 64 

Polly Hone, - - - - - - - 75 

Human Sympathy, - - - ' - - - 87 

Circumstance vs. Providence, - - ' - - 94 

Grace and May, ------ 97 

Ida, ... . . - - - 99 

The Snow- Storm, ------ 106 

I Wish, 109 

Woman's Rights, - - - - - - 112 

The World in Antithesis, - - - - "S 

Men and Women, - - - - • - 119 

Song of the Wind, ...--- 121 

Sunshine, .------ 123 

Angels' Visits, - - - - - - - 125 

Guardian Angels, - - - - - 127 

Sonnet, -------- 129 

Deferred, ------- 130 

Love, ------- 132 

Color, ------ ^33 




For IThy Sake. 

DUTY stood at the door, 
Sternly compelling 
Something that oft before 

I'd done, rebelling; 
Seemed it, of all I know, 
Menial and lowly; 
"Lord, should I stoop so low 
When Thou art holy? 

I love the sunny sheen 
Where Thou hast led me; 

Love I the pastures green, 
Where Thou hast fed rne." 

Just then a pleading word 
Made my weak hand shake; 

And a low voice I heard — 
"Do it for my sake." 



Home Ballads. 

"Long have I suffered loss, 

Bearing this trial; 
Carried this heavy cross 

In self-denial; 
Toiled up this arduous way, 

Barren and dreary; 
Lord, I would fain obey, 

But I am weary!" 

" I bore the cross for thee 
Up Calvary's mountain; 
Prayed in Gethsemane, 

By Kedron's fountain; 
And need I urge thee still ? 
Do it for My sake." 
"I yield, dear Lord; I will 
Do all for Thy sake." 



Loue of 606. 



E 



OVE of God, so full, divine- 
It is nearer, 
It is dearer 

Far than thine. 



Love of God, be more to me 
Than all other— ^ 
Sister, brother — 
E'er could be! 

Love of God, fill all my heart; 
Never, never, 
From me sever, 
Or depart! 

Love of God, abide with me! 
I surrender 
Every tender 
Chord to thee. 



Home Ballads. 

Love of Jesus, make me whole; 
Move most sweetly, 
And completely. 
All my soul! 

Love of Christ, my being nerve, 
From inertion 
To exertion. 
Thee to serve! 

Love of God, endure alway; 
Ne'er grow older. 
Dimmer, colder 
Than today! 




Chy Wi\[ be Done. 



LORD! I would bow with Thee 
^ In dark Gethsemane, 
Praying alone. 
Thou, who didst bear for me 
My load of agony 
In dark Gethsemane, 
Thy will be done I 



Bring my petition near 
Into Thy heart and ear, 

O holy One! 
Pain darts across my way; 
Thick darkness hides the day; 
Yet, Lord, I still would pray, 

Thy will be done! 



lO Home Ballads. 

Lord! I would go with Thee 
Up to mount Calvary, 

Bearing the cross; 
Bearing the grief and shame 
Of sundered friendship's name, 
And the world's scoffs and blame 

Counting but dross — 

Would linger near the tree 
Where Jesus died for me — 

Died for his own: 
The Father hides His face. 
Darkness comes on apace. 
Heaven frowns; for in disgrace 

He dies alone. 

Down to the sepulchre. 
Lord! I would follow her 

Who loved Thee well; 
There, at the dawn of day, 
Hear the sweet Mary say, 
"Who'll roll the stone away?" 
Angfels can tell. 



Thy Will be Done. 1 1 

"Not here!" The tidings flew; 
Who died for me and you, 

Death could not hold; 
Lo ! " He is risen " today, 
Hear the glad angels say. 
Go bear the news away — 

The news untold. 

And so my guilt is not; 
This is the price that bought 

Pardon for me; 
This is the price that brings 
All good and precious things, 
On Faith's exultant wings, 

Glad soul, to thee! 



Faith. 



FAITH is on the mountain-top; 
High above the clouds she stands, 
On the Rock, and looking up, 

Hymning with the angel bands 
That suri'ound the throne of God, 
Brightening His bright abode. 

Lightnings play beneath her feet, 
Thunders tremble through the air. 

Storms descend and torrents meet; 
Naught can hurt or harm her there; 

On the Rock she firmly stands. 

Hymning with the angel bands. 

Though in rags she walks the streets, 

Though her couch the cold, damp ground, 

Though no kindly voice doth greet, 
She hath all things and abounds; 



Faith, 13 

She an heir of God and heaven — 
Crowns and thrones to her are given. 

And when oft the unseen Hand 

Leads her to the valley dim — 
Lions chained, and devils, stand — 

Safely through she follows Him; 
Through the shadows dark and gray, 
Faith discerns the narrow way. 

When upon the raging sea. 

Winds adverse and baffled skill, 
Jesus sleeps; but waking. He 

Bids the winds and waves be still: 
Gazing upward, still she stands, 
Singing with the angel bands. 

When the human faints and fades, 

And the mortal meets decay. 
Faith escapes these narrow glades, 

Soars to ope the gates of day ; 
Mounting upward, still she flies 
Home to God, when dying dies. 



Ulherefore for the Coming Day. 



WHEREFORE, for the coming day, 
Care and trouble borrow? 
Do thy little work today, 

Trust Him for the morrow; 
Eat whate'er He gives to eat, 
Trust Him for tomorrow's meat. 

See thy Father's granary 

Filled to overflowing! 
Jesus holds the magic key. 

Tenderly bestowing 
As He willeth. Ask Him, then; 
He will honored be of men. 

What though weariness and pain 

Hold thy hand and waking, 
The unwelcome day again 

Through the darkness breaking? 



Wherefore for the Coming Day. 15 

Trust Him though no work be done, 
Trust at morn and set of sun. 

See the lilies of the plain, 

Toiling not, nor spinning, 
Knowing neither loss nor gain, 

Neither care's beginning! 
Never lady, in her ease. 
Was arrayed like one of these. 

See the blithe birds of the air, 

Sowing not, nor reaping, 
Knowing neither toil nor care — 

Flying, singing, sleeping — 
Waking, praising God! why then 
Are they better fed than men? 

They do all they have to do, 

All that God has given; 
But they murmur not, as you, 

Child and heir of Heaven;' 
Going where His kind hand leads, 
So He warms and clothes and feeds. 



i6 



Home Ballads. 



Why so slow to learn of them, 
Of the birds and flowers? 

Why so loth to trust in Him, 
In life's darksome hours; 

We belie w^hat we profess, 

Loving little, trusting less. 




Crust Him Altogether. 



THROUGH foul or pleasant weather, 
Whatever may befall, 
O, trust Him altogether, 

Or trust Him not at all! 
For He is fully able 

To meet thy soul's great need, 
To furnish well thy table, 
And all thy hungry feed. 

He giveth not by measure, 

Or grudgingly, or small; 
E'en to thy faith the treasure 

Shall be proportioned all. 
O, then, in stormy weather. 

Whatever may befall. 
Trust in Him altogether. 

Or trust Him not at all! 
What though the shadows lengthen. 

And cover all the ground; 

2 



1 8 Home Ballads. 

And thy forebodings strengthen, 

As, gazing all around, 
Thou viewest the ancient places, 

Where Hope has built high towers, 
And over all are traces 

Of sorrow's busy hours? 

Fear not! fear not! He loves thee, 

And to His loving breast, 
O child of God! He holds thee, 

And there thou mayest rest. 
E'en if thou fail. He loves thee. 

The clouds will break at length; 
The shades are sent to prove thee, 

To try thy faith and strength! 

And if thou fail not, glory 

And joy shall end thy days; 
Through Jesus' strength thou'st conquered, 

To Him shall be the praise. 
Then, in all stormy weather, 

Whatever may befall, 
O trust Him altogether, 

Or trust Him not at all! 




star of Paith. 



5 '-r^ WAS a lonely waif 

_L Upon the sea of life, 
Floating upon the tide, 

Tossing amid the strife 
Of the angry, foaming billows, 

With fear and danger rife. 

Borne upon the waves, 
Darkness shrouds the sky. 

While fearful wind and storm 
Obey the mandate high — 

It quails at the awful thunder. 
Whose lightnings round it fly. 

Now the eye is fixed 

Upon a lone bright star; 

Its light through darkness gleams 
Over the waves afar. 



20 Home Ballads. 

It is of heaven the token, 

Whose bright door seems ajaTr 

Rest, oh, troubled heart; 

List its whisperings! 
'T will strength to thee impart, 

'Twill hope and courage bring, 
To gain a victory mighty. 

Under a Savior King. 

Safe 'twill guide thee o'er 
Life's dark, troubled sea. 

Till moored on heaven's shore, 
Thy own frail bark shall be — 

The gift of the dear, kind Savior, 
Sweet star of Faith to thee. 




JlFlother. 

OTHE weary days of waiting 
On the borders of the river! 
Days of shadow and of sadness, 
Days of sunshine and of gladness, 
On the heights, where past and present 
Mingle with the great hereafter. 

Thinking, thinking — knitting, knitting, 
Little blocks of patchwork fitting, 
In her old armchair a-sitting. 

She's aweary and awaiting — 
Weary with a life of labor. 
Weary with a life of trial — 
Feels her own life-work is ended; 
Loving much the loving Savior, 
Longs to be forever with Him; 
Wonders why the summons tarries. 



22 Home Ballads. 

April with her crystal showers, 
Summer with her fruits and flowers, 
Autumn with his golden bowers, 
Winter with his busy hours — 
Years roll by, and still she ever 
Hears the murmur of the river, 
Sees its wavelets gleam and glisten, 
Drops her work to look and listen: 
One by one they 're passing over, 
Still for her arrives no summons; 

But her pains are growing sharper, 
And her face is growing paler. 
And the wrinkles something deeper; 
Thinking, knitting — thinking, knitting; 
Little blocks of patchwork fitting; 
In her rocking-chair still sitting: 

Till one day, when gentle showers 
Fell upon earth's budding bowers. 
Came a soft and gentle calling. 
Like an angel voice at even — 
All so still, we heard unheeding — 



Mother. 23 

And her eyes grew brighter, brighter, 
And her brow paled whiter, whiter — 
Whiter than the couch she lay on — 
Till a strange, mysterious glory 
Filled the room and us with wonder. 

Three long months in pain she lay there, 
And ofttimes she talked with angels — 
Often with the blessed Jesus — 
Longing, longing — waiting, waiting; 
Not a whit her pain abating; 

But one eve, when twilight mingled 
With the growing shades of darkness, 
Silently and soft and welcome 
Came the last and final summons. 
Heaven's fragrance wafted earthward. 
Light from thence illumed earth's darkness; 
Earth and heaven were close together: 
Then the Savior threw His mantle 
Softly over her, and bare her 
Safely to the realms of glory. 




Che Bluer. 

OVER the murmuring river, 
The loved ones are singing, 
Their melody ringing 
Forever and ever. 

Over the mystical river, 
Each know^eth the other; 
The infant, the mother. 

Death cannot dissever. 

Over the phantom river. 
Their pleasures are real; 
They grasp the ideal. 

And hold it forever. 

Over the weeping river. 

No tear of regretting. 

No sighing nor fretting, 
Disturb them, forever. 



The River, 

Over the sleeping river, 

The heart's dearest treasures, 
The soul's sweetest pleasures, 

Are v^aking together. 

O, blessed immortals! 
That river of terror, 
The tomb of old error, 

Is only heaven's portals. 



25 




Che mther Si6e, 



SHOULD I dread to cross the river, 
Flowing darkly, deep and wide? 
I shall see the Golden City - 

On the verdant heaven-side: 
I shall see the holy angels. 

Who have watched my pathway o'er; 
They are waiting to convey me 
Safely to the other shore. 

I shall see my long-lost kindred, 

And my baby-brother meet — 
Father, mother, sister, haisting 

On swift wings, their own to greet — 
Not as when on earth we parted. 

Bear they palms of victoi'y; 
And are like the blessed Jesus, 

Clothed with immortality. 



The Other Side. 27 

The rejected " Man of Sorrows," 

There, methinks, I then shall see: 
The exalted, glorious Savior, 

Who once walked in Galilee — 
Gaze upon the loved disciple, 

Paul, and Peter, .and the rest; 
Greet the Marys and the Marthas, 

And the children that He blest. 

I shall see the great All-Father, 

Veiled in glory, veiled in light — 
Reverent angels bow their faces. 

Bow their joyous faces bright. 
And the music there resounding 

Mortal ear hath never heard; 
And the beauty Him surrounding 

Mortal pulse hath never stirred. 

I shall view the martyred millions 
Who have died by sword and flame; 

And shall see the holy prophets 
Who have loved His holy name — 



28 Home Ballads. 

Gaze with awe on untold numbers 
From the islands of the sea, 

From the frozen zones, the jungles, 
And wild dens of Africa. 

Should I dread to cross the river. 

Since upon the other shore 
All my treasures dear are gathered, 

And my kindred gone before? 
In His house, of many mansions, 

Jesus hath prepared for me 
A dear home: I know 'tis waiting, 

And its light I long to see. 




T^daitinoi for Be. 



IN a land undimmed by shadows, 
In a home where all is fair, 
I have kindred waiting for me — 
Waiting my arrival there. 

And methinks they stand together — 
Father, mother, gone before. 

Sister, brother, kindred spirits — 
Waiting on the other shore. 

And the angels, too, are kindred, 

Round the throne of God they stand; 

Christ, my elder brother, waiting 
For me in His own fair land. 

And the great Supreme, Eternal, 
Is my Father, and He waits 

Patiently, till all His children 
Safe arrive at heaven's gates. 



30 Home Ballads. 

How the cares of earth grow lighter, 
And its pain seems less to bear, 

When I feel they're waiting for me — 
Waiting my arrival there. 




By-an6-By. 



T 



'HERE is a hope, 
There is a fear; 
It may be far, 
It may be near; 
But, in the future, waiting, I 
Shall Jesus see; yes, by-and-by. 

Impatient soul, 

And longing heart, 
Your murmurs cease. 
And bear your part 
Of pain and labor on life's road. 
For soon 'twill lead thee to thy God; 

And by-and-by 

Will soon be now, 

And God shall wipe 
Each tear-stained brow; 



32 Home Ballads. 

The Lamb shall feed them from His throne- 
To living fountains lead His own. 

O verdant fields! 

O shining shore! 
The Lamb of God 

Spreads wide the door. 
Ah, Golden City! surely I 
Shall see your glories by-and-by. 




Dauining, 

CHRISTIAN, awake! for the daystar is dawning 
That heralds the morning; 
Far over the sea the nations are waking, 
Their fetters are breaking; 

They struggle in vain their fetters to sunder. 

They struggle and wonder; 
They stretch forth their hands in attitude pleading, 

Oh, rest not unheeding! 

Mosque and pogoda are tottering, creaking, 

To you they are speaking; 
The kingdom of satan is trembling, falling. 

And Jesus is calliijg. 

God by His spirit the way is preparing. 

His strong arm is baring; 

God in His providence wide doors is oping, 

And will ye be moping? 
3 



34 



Home Ballads. 



Ye, who have wealth, who have intellect's power, 

What, think of the hour? 
Crown it with dutiful grateful behavior; 

Give all to the Savior. 

For over the world the daystar is dawning 

That heralds the morning. 
And Jesus shall reign, with glad acclamations, 

The Light of all nations! 




Bheltere6. 

MORNING dawned serenely, 
Sunlight danced around; 
Birds were on the wing, 
Birds were caroling; 
Beautiful and seemly, 
Every living thing, 
Every sight and sound! 

Such life's early waking; 
But, e're noon was nigh. 
Distant muttering. 
Loud threats uttering — 
Storm and thunder breaking 
O'er me on swift wing — 
Shelter none had I. 

Through the tempest dreary. 
Sped a welcome guest; 



36 Home Ballads^ 

Love, upon the wing, 
Unto me did sing: 
Come to me, ye weary, 
All your burdens bring; 
I will give you rest! 

Refuge I have found me 

From the stormy blast — 

Lo! extended wide 

Jesus' arms! I hide; 

Love and Peace surround me, 

I will here abide 

Till life's storms are past. 




$aUlee. 

WATCHFUL angels hover round, 
O'er the heights of GaHlee; 
And the wondering stars look down, 
Where the Savior bends the knee. 
Burdened with the guilt and scorn 

Of the world, alone, He there 
Kneels, until the first faint dawn 
Of the morn, in fervent prayer. 

The disciples are away 

On the raging sea below; 
Winds adverse, and in dismay 

"Toiling in, they toiling row;" — 
Hope and joy their bosoms thrill: 

Jesus comes! He comes! and hark! 
As He utters, "Peace, be still," 

At the port they moor their bark. 



38 Home Ballads. 

Lone disciple on life's sea, 

Frightened mariner! His love 
Watcheth now, in heaven, o'er thee; 

Jesus prays for you above. 
Though the weaves around thee roll, 

Fear and doubt thy bosom fill, 
See! He cometh to thy soul. 

On the waves, with "Peace, be .still." 




Jflercy. 



WHO, who will bear these to fallen man- 
A ruined, stubborn race? 
The price of blood my Son hath shed — 
Mercy with Truth and Grace. 

The spirit came — the spirit of God, 

With gifts for one and all, 
Hands full of treasures rich and free, 

Many and great and small; 

And softly whispers in human hearts, 
"Ask and ye shall receive;" 
Ye need not hunger, need not thirst. 
Ye need not mourn and grieve: 

Here's Mercy for all, both great and small; 

Repent and turn to God — 
A balm to heal the wound you feel, 

Beneath His angry rod. 



4© Home Ballads. 

And Mercy still stands with open hands, 

Still waiting to bestow 
Her gifts to men, the moment when 

They will to have it so. 

Eye hath not seen, and ear hath not heard, 
Nor heart conceived, the bliss 

Laid up above for those who love 
And follow righteousness. 




Sympathy. 

THERE is a sympathy 
Above the human; 
It comes alike to child, 
To man and woman. 

To high and low alike, 
Where'er there's pining, 

Or burden to be borne, 
Or sick reclining. 

And whoso'er applies, 

However lowly, 
Its soothing power feels — 

A charm most holy. 

It helps us bear our pain. 
Our grief and sadness; 

To sorrow gives again 
The smile of gladness. 



42 Home Ballads. 

And those who stumble so, 
Their weakness showing, 

It yearns to raise them up. 
With love past knowing. 

This blessed sympathy, 

So freely given. 
On chords of love comes down 

From God in heaven. 

And in all human hearts, 
Though ill-assorted, 

This godlike impulse dwells, 
But blind, distorted — 

Still burning with high zeal, 
Nor scarce discerning 

The true from false; for aye 
Cool reason spurning; 

Yet blesses she the world, 
Through blind endeavor. 

We'll clasp her to our hearts, 
For aye, forever. 



Sympathy, 

And when the hot tear starts, 
We pine and languish — 

We look to God above 
To sooth our anguish. 



43 




Hebrew Captiues. 



BY Euphrates river, flowing 
Soft through Babylonia's street, 
Sit a crowd of weary wanderers, 
Sick of heart and sore of feet. 

All the way from Palestina, 

From their kindred and their home, 
Driven by Chaldean masters, 

Faint and weary they have come. 

On the willows by the rivers 

Hang their harps, from whose accord 
Rang the praises of Jehovah, 

Only God and mighty Lord. 

Mount Moriah's walls and temple. 
Fair Mount Zion's sacred keep. 

And Siloam's silver waters, 

Haunt their memory — they weep. 



Hebrew Captives. 45 

Pitiless, the proud foe taunts them, 
Heeding not their tears and wrongs: 
"Sing us one of David's measures, 
Sing us one of Zion's songs." 

" Can we sing the songs of Zion, 
Can we chant Jehovah's praise. 
Mid tlie jargon and the discord 
Of your lieathen rites and ways? 

We can ne'er forget thee, never, 

Never, O Jerusalem! 
Be thy memory and worship 

Dearer far than diadem! 

Let my hand forget her cunning. 
And my tongue in silence cleave 

To my palate, if I ever 

For thy downfall cease to grieve." 

So their harps hang pendent, silent. 

On the boughs by Babel's streams; — • 

One sweet hope, Messiah's coming, 
Through the distant future gleams. 



46 



Home Ballads. 

Israel, had'st thou shunned, forsaken 

Idols, revelry and sin; 
Served the Lord thy God — Him only, 

Oh, this never need have been! 




3t is 13;IelL 



TIME wings lightly, Hope is high; 
Free from care or trial, 
Blest are they; and so am I — 
Blest in self-denial. 

Life is pleasant, life is sweet. 

Full of joy and beauty; 
Yet is my reward complete 

In the path of duty. 

Life is sunshine, life is rest; 

Ease surrounds my neighbor; 
Still am I supremely blest — 

Blest in toil and labor. 

Plenty crowns another's days, 

Free from want or losses; 
Yet am I, in all my ways. 

Blest in bearing crosses. 



48 Home Ballads. 

Though I weep while others smile, 
Knowing no aggrievement; 

I mourn not, being the while 
Blest in my bereavement. 

One great love encircles man, 

Yesterday, tomorrow; 
And that love alike I scan, 

Both in joy and sorrow. 




Satan's Pochetbooh. 



ROAMING with eager thought and aim, 
Unto an unknown land I came: 
'Twas dark and wild — I paused to look — 
The murky air, the shivering gloom 
Hung o'er the valley like the doom 
Of banished souls; and closely by, 
Borne sluggishly and silently. 
The volume of a sulphurous brook. 

A chain of mountains dark was seen. 
Bounding the earth and Hell between; 
And many of their peaks towered up 
So high one could not see their top. 
This awful chain of mounts was called 
The mountains of God's wi*ath, and walled 
Th' Infernal Regions in, save where 
I stood; a narrow opening there 



50 



Home Ballads. 

Was guarded well — 

This gate of Hell — 
By the dark image of Despair. 
With eyes of fire and tongue of hate, 
Prime minister of Doom he sate; 
Yet chained so close he could not go 
But little way from Hell, although 
He guarded well th' Infernal gate. 

Beyond the motxntains of God's wrath, 
Which walled th' Infernal Regions in. 
Outstretched a landscape fair, which hath 
Been singed and scorched by pain and sin; 
This country fair is called the earth. 
Outspreading wide a vast, vast j^lain. 
Heaven's sunshine falling on it — 
Heaven's dew and Heaven's rain; 
And gazing mute, I heard, methought, 
Discordant notes of music brought 
Upon the wings of moving air; 
And listening, I heard, I know, 
The notes of joy and wail of woe 
Which mingle there. 



Satan's Pocketbook. 51 

THE EARTH. 

A climate where they weep and sing, 

And hearts grow colder, warmer, 
With more of winter than of spring, 
And more of fall than summer. 

^Where spectral death gloats after life, 

And storm the sunshine follows; 
Contentment sweet abides with strife. 

And famine plenty swallows. 

A region where the good and bad 

Grow side by side together; 
Walk hand in hand, the gay and sad. 

Through foul or pleasant ^veather. 

Where broods the raven's sable wing 

O'er love's enchanted bower; 
Where lurks the serpent's fatal sting, 

Hidden beneath the flower. 

A curious spot where night and morn 

By turns devour each other, 
Where patience is of sorrow born 

To overcome her mother. 



C2 Home Ballads. 

Lost spirits, 'scaped from prisons deep, 
Beneath where they were lying; 

Work mischief with God's careless sheep, 
And lure with hope the dying. 

Where prayer can drive the deel away; 

Where Pain abides with Pleasure, 
Where Good and Evil strive alway 

Our hearts to rule and measure. 

Where angels weep, o'er fallen man, 
Their tears of love and pity; 

God's eyes, unseen, man's actions scan, 
From His Eternal City. 

The air was hot, the brooklet bad 

Was flowing earthward, and it had 

Its scource in Hell. Yet round and round 

It zigzag coursed until it found. 

Or stole, its way through Hellgate. 

From Hellgate 'tis Intemperance 

Flows onward through earth, and thence — 

A circuit wide and strange to tell — 

Pours in the other side of Hell. 



Satan's Pocketbook, 53 

Alas! this stream of death and sin 
Appeared to flow both out and in! 
The under waters, narrow, deep, 
With insidious silence creep 
Over the unsuspecting world! 
But on its rippling surface gleams 
Delusion, and all fair it seems, 
As round and round it curled. 

Backward lowered a grizzly cloud, 

Hovering o'er the dark abyss, 

A cloud of sulphurous smoke; and loud 

The devils mutter, serpents hiss — 

Fearful jargon, horrid cursing. 

Loud blasphemings seething, bursting, 

Trembling through the turbid air. 

From vengeful spirits dwelling there; 

And lightning's blaze and polar night 

Commingle with contending might. 

Rolling, bellowing thunders sound 
'Neath my feet, and shake the ground; 
Their voice is heard above the din 
Of demons murmurinsf hard within — 



54 



Home Ballads. 

Within a horrid gulf, down, down. 
Where ne'er a bottom hath been found. 

The prisoned hissing of hell-fire, 

Outbursting with a sudden ire, 

Showers adown o'er all the plain 

Like an ill-omened, blood-red rain, 

The ashes of impure desii'e, 

Flying upon the wings of fire; 

Some sparks flew earthward, and they came 

Unto the brook of sulphurous name, 

And lighted on it; through the night 

The passion fires gleamed lurid light, 

And sparks became 

A quenchless flame, 
And war and anguish from below — 
Terror, disaster, fear and woe, 

And famine, desolation, pain. 

Quickly spread over all the plain. 

Some sparks touched buds which ne'er again 

Essayed to put their beauties forth 

Upon the borders of the earth; 

But unto these 'twas surely given 



Satan's Pocketbook. 55 

To bud again and bloom in heaven. 
Again, fire, smoke and soot flew out, 
Diffusing terror all about; 
And from the pit, on all around, 
Were ashes strewn, and on the ground. 

Dreadful eruptions! mortal fear 
Embraced me, as I lingered here; 
For o'er my head the mass sailed forth 
That lighted on and scorched the earth. 
It stayed at last; and moving fast, 
I sought to 'scape this awful place; 
And, musing much, I knew at last 
'Twas Earth and Hell, the middle space. 

Upon the margin of the brook. 

And near those mountains dark and high, 

Hastening past, I paused to look 

At something, lost there, hard and dry; 

I seized it, in my waistcoat tight 

Demurely placed it, out of sight; 

And saw, upon the sand and soot. 

Prints of Apollyon's cloven foot; 

And numerous marks there were in sight, 



56 Home Ballads. 

As though there'd been a recent fight — 
He had just waged a desperate war 
For some poor soul he'd bargained for. 

At last I reached a quiet spot 
Upon Earth's bosom, broad and fair, 
And, sitting down to rest and muse 
Upon my strange adventure there, 
I thought upon "the something lost" 
I found upon the verge of Fate; 
And drew it from my waistcoat forth, 
And looked it o'er as there I sate — 
And sudden horrors thrilled my veins; 
I dropped it, fled, then turned to look, 
When there, upon the grass and soot, 
Lay Satan's private Pocketbook. 

O, horror upon horrors! now, 
A pretty scrape you've got into; 

For devils old, and devils young, 
En masse, will soon be after you! 

Why did I ever leave the Earth, 

In thoug-ht to canvass worlds unknown- 



Satan's Pocketbook, 57 

That blessed, miserable place, 

With thorns and roses ovei-grown? 

But here I am, a helpless wight. 

Target of Chance, and sport of Fate! 

O, fly thee to thy quiet home! 
A pris'ner, I; too late, too late! 

For I have trespassed, trespassed deep, 

Upon forbidden ground, alone; 
I cannot laugh, I cannot weep — 

My heart is like a block of stone. 

The cunning chief of misery 

Is lurking near me, all unseen; 
He will not lose his property 

Without one desperate grab, I ween. 
Woe, woe to me! for all of life, 

Of love and hope are lost to me! 
No, no! I'll give "the deel his own'^'' 

O God! thy worm appeals to Thee. 

After a while, as I grew calm, 
I took it up, nor felt alarm; 
And slowly, without fear or hate, 



^8 Home Ballads, 

Proceeded to investigate; 

A still, small voice within me calmed 

And bade me to unravel all 

The schemes of Satan, to ensnare 

Unwary ones within his thrall. 

THE POCKETBOOK. 

A cm'ious thing! the outer sides, 
Of adamant, could well abide 
The fury of hell-fire. A bone, 
Mixed with a certain kind of stone, 
Inflammable, the clasp made close. 
Till, from a drunkard's veins let loose, 
Blood touched the spring; wide ope it flew, 
With noise and crash; when to my view 
Appeared the contents, lying in: 
Made of a pale and haggard skin 
The linings were; and diamonds rare. 
And precious things, and jewels fair. 
And many a price in scrip and gold. 
Of fools, who e'en themselves had sold 
For pleasure, to the deel for wine. 
For honor, or a name to shine 



Satan's Pocketbook. 59 

On Fame's high dome. When these were past — 
The price, I'll have your soul at last. 

Still fumbling within, I sought 

And came to one whose facts were wrought 

In fiery lines, on parchment dark 

As midnight, without moon or stars. 

When naught Earth's quiet dreaming mars, 

But soft repose her slumbers mark. 

This deed malign I leave in shade; 

I cannot trace it undismayed. 

Terror withstood me as I mused, 

And trembling shook the hand I used. 

All hastily I hurried past 

The horrid details, and the last 

I fain would find; but infinite 

Their number seemed, and dark as night. 

Hatred of sin and sinful things 

Thrilled through my soul, as Satan sings, 

For here laid open to my view 

The hellish schemes that millions slew. 

The almighty dollar, it was plain, 

Had millions upon millions slain; 



6o Home Ballads. 

And many who were void of sense 
Were snared and taken by "five cents." 
And one whose tiny little soul 
Was taken by a part or whole 
Of one round cent, was detailed there; 
And pennies, pennies everywhei^e, 
And cots and palaces and towers, 
And lands, dominions, thrones and powers, 
And ships, and stocks, and merchandise. 
Were bartered for the awful price 
I Of human souls. 

'Tis strange, surprising strange, but so 

He claimed dominion long ago 

Of the duped Earth and all within; 

Then sought a traffic to begin 

With those he duped and caused to sin. 

He'd fought with heaven, and, vanquished there, 

Retreated backward, downward, where 

He and his minions people space; 

But spirits know no bound of place — 

And near to Earth, too near, alas! 

To Earth, from thence, in freedom pass. 



Satan's Pocketbook. 6 1 

'Twas thus he sought to circumvent 
His late discomfitui-e, and sent 
His minions forth with title-deeds 
Of lands and houses, names and creeds. 

Still searching, wonders more I found, 
Reclining there upon the ground — 
Wonders of dark, malignant schemes. 
Surpassing diabolic dreams 
Of thought malign, and devilish plan. 
To snare and conquer listless man — 
Heaven's pet — for in his form and mien 
The image of his God was seen. 

I trembling sat in terror, pain, [brain; 

While thought chased thought through my dazed 

A loud and sudden crashing heard, 

Like the collision of two worlds. 

Through space careering, met at last — 

The less to atoms flies, and fast 

The greater moves in grandeur past. 

The air now wore the murky hue 
Of regions recently in view — 



62 Home Ballads. 

Of regions, I had lately flown. 

A dash of vivid lightning shone, 

And thunder burst and rolled around, 

Then bellowed underneath the ground. 

The tall trees swung their leafy arms, 

And bowed low down their stalwart forms. 

But did not break. The angry sky 

Seemed circling to earth, and high 

Of clouds sailed fragments, black as night, 

In seeming terror and aflfright. 

And dust and soot flew all about; 

Flew in and out, then in and out. 

And smoke of sulphur smote the sight. 

But harmlessly it passed, and calmf 

Pervaded all ai"ound, and bright 

The sun poured down a radiance warm 

O'er hill, and dale, and mountain height; 

The soft wind breathed a murmured prayer, 

The echo murmured happiness; 

And flowers bloomed in beauty there. 

And stooped the soft, green earth to kiss. 

The bird-song burst upon the ear. 



Satan's Pocketbook. 

The brooklet paused to smile and hear. 
I wondered at the happy change, 
So sudden, and so sweet, and strange; 
And looked upon the ground in vain, 
And in my pocket, in my brain; 
Ah! Satan's Pocketbook had gone; 
I could not wish it back again — 
The devil's own — he'll have his own! 



63 




Sequel to Satan's Pochetbooh. 



INTEMPERANCE, swift-moving flood, 
Freighted with evil, void of good — 
So moved me with its ceaseless gleam, 
Like a somnambulistic dream, 
I climbed an elevated nook, 
Where I could trace this winding brook, 
To take of it another look. 
The distance safe, and lofty height, 
Offered an outlook, out of sight; 
And lo! o'er all the prospect vast, 
A strange, ill-omened light was cast. 
With meaning pregnant; not a sound 
Rolled through the air or jarred the ground. 
I saw a noiseless little brook. 
With unpretending harmless look, 
Flow from beneath the portals wide 
That shut close in the underside; 
'Twas but a laughing little stream, 
Whose merry wavelets dance and gleam, 



Sequel to Satan's Pocketbook, '65 

Disclosing naught at first but joy, 

To tempt with merry jokes the boy — 

With gentle, soothing motion flows, 

With siren measures lulling those 

Who launch upon this death-bound flood. 

Soon overcome with strange repose. 

Or dazed with outward show of good, 

Are charmed with what appeared to be 

A form of loveliness and grace. 

In whose voluptuous, ruddy face 

Are dimpled smiles and jovial mirth. 

Adorned with glittering gems of Earth. 

Dancing to varied minstrelsy, 

A weird, fantastic light is cast 

Upon the present, future, past. 

Until all solid things are made 

To fall behind, and rest in shade. 

The fair form changes now, and lo! 
Approaching stealthily and slow. 
Borne onward in a gilded bark, 
Upon the waters deep and dark, 
The vender of a subtle thing 



66 Home Ballads. 

Which makes a mortal laugh and sing, 
And dance and shout e'en in death's face, 
While Misery and shamed Disgrace 
Hang round the bier — and yet for more 
The victim wails; his honor, store, 
His reputation, manhood, strength, 
His bread and meat, his soul at length, 
Are bartered to the deel for more. 

For, just behind this vender foul. 
Another stood with mince and scowl; 
'Twas but a shape, though ill or fair. 
With impious import hiding there. 
And in his hand, with close device. 
He firmly held concealed "the price;" 
And cries, "'Tis naught." As on they go. 
The brooklet widens; and the flow 
At first is easy, with calm mien 
Meanders terraced hills between. 
Or softly creeps through valleys green; 
But carries, with its eddies fair, 
A poisoned breath, a poisoned air, 
Which smites the leaf upon the trees, 



Sequel to Satan's Pocketbook. 67 

And floats far off upon the breeze; 
It blights the tender, budding bloom 
Of gardens green with polar gloom; 
It slays the grass, it slays the grain, 
It stays the ever welcome rain. 

The shapeless shape, holding the price, 
Sulks frowningly, touches the dice; 
The trifling price to any one 
Looks like a little bit of fun. 
Delusion; but he deftly throws 
Chains over willing dupes, and goes 
With even motion swiftly on. 
Until, sun, moon and stars all gone. 
The soul in darkness moans and quakes, 
And e'en this feeble body shakes; 
And the dire shape, so fair at first, 
Is changed to something dark, accursed, 
A horrid thing that, day and night. 
Impels him on; 'tis Appetite. 
The dark form rages, foams and roars, 
While near a dreadful cataract pours; 
A voice is heard in accents clear. 



68 Home Ballads. 

"Beware, beware, destruction's near!" 
A lovely, jeweled, helping hand 
Seems dropping from the better land; 
It beckons to him, and implores 
To turn and live. To golden shores 
The hand points, bleeding; oping wide, 
Light breaks the gloom and skims the tide, 
And over portals deep, inwrought. 
Was "touch not, taste not, handle not." 
These portals led to temples fair, 
Resting like jewels, here and there. 
Upon earth's throbbing breast; and lo! 
Many for refuge there did go, 
And found the safe retreat they sought 
In "touch not, taste not, handle not." 

But many more rush heedless on, 

'Till manhood, strength and hope are gone. 

The prison houses are filled full 

Of these poor wretches, bright and dull; 

Proud talent meets, and wealth rests by 

The sunburnt sons of poverty. 

While hunger and consumption pale 

List mute to disappointment's wail; 



Sequel to Satan's Pocketbook. 69 

And orphans' groans, 

And widows' moans, 
Ambition's broken shrine, despair, 
Anguish and terror, mingle there. 

Rolls on the freighted flood, with power 
Submerging palace, hut and tower; 

Tall trees, and low, 

To ruin go; 

And the firm rock. 

Which bore the shock 
Of wind and storm for many years, 
Is swept away, and naught appears 
But helpless, broken fragments — e'en 
Revealing what they might have been. 
As round and round its waters wind. 
It had whole cities undermined; 

Had kings uncrowned, 
And thrones borne down; 
Deluged many a castle fair. 
So grandly reared upon the air; 
Deluged many a castle strong, 
All freighted with a poet's song; 



yo Home Ballads. 

Deluged many a castle great, 
Where a blazoned warrior sate ; 
And, wheresoe'er it winds about, 
Fair homes were marred or blotted out; 
And many cots of humble mien. 
Or noble mansions, have been seen. 
Wrecked and ruined, floating thence 
On the dark stream, Intemperance — 
Broad channel, ever bringing in 
Victims of pleasure, vice and sin! 
And o'er the bound of hell at last. 
Its volume thundered full and fast. 

And as they pass the fearful bourne 
From whence no one can e'er return, 
We hear their cries, we hear their groans, 
We hear their never-ending moans; 
And, as they hasten on apace. 
More come to fill their vacant place — 
Borne onward, as all those before, 
En masse^ e'en to destruction's door. 
They heeded not the warning voice, 
They heeded not the helping hand: 



Sequel to Satan's Pocketbook. 'ji - 

One bade them make the better choice, 
One pointed to the better land. 

And oh, the ghostly vision dread! 
The shape ill-omened stalks ahead; 
That shapeless shape, always in sight, 
The fearful thing called Appetite. 
The eye is riveted to it; 
Will has no power to rule, or sit 
Upon her ancient throne, but lies 
In mute paralysis, and dies. 

The lovely, jeweled hand has gone. 

The day is ended, light has flown; 

Now darkness reigns supreme, and all 

Is merged in midnight's dismal pall; 

But through the blackness backward gleam 

Those horrid eyes whose glances seem 

Like charm of serpent; and no light 

Of cheering token breaks the night. 

Near, nearer still, the cataract pours. 

And from beneath loud thunder roars — 

The shape, whose eyes haunt, haunt him still, 

Comes nearer; with a horrid thrill, 



*j2 Home Ballads. 

Its finger ends but touch his brow — 
He writhes, and fain would die, but now 
Its hps upon his lips are pressed; 
While on his eyes its eyeballs rest; 
With hand to hand, and frame to frame, 
They breathe as one, and are the same. 
The devil has him now! The price 
Was but a wicked, shrewd device, 
And made to get him to this plight — 
A cat's-paw of poor Appetite. 
Thus Appetite bought many more 
Than gold, and diamonds, and the lore 
Of ancient sage, or heathen myth 
Fixed up to treat the season with. 
But over all Earthland shone bright 
Cities of refuge, clean and white. 
With temples rising to the sky, 
Imprinted on whose portals high, 
And visible in every spot, 
Was "touch not, taste not, handle not." 

And many millions more are near 
The cataract; some devoid of fear — 



Sequel to Satan's Pocketbook, 75 

So stupefied their senses are, 
They see no danger, near or far, 
While just ahead the torrent roars. 
And over hell's high walls it pours; 

But other some, more millions told, 

Know all, hear all and all behold, 

Of danger and destruction nigh; 

They struggle with their chains, and try 

With might and main the spell to break; 

But no, with senses wide awake. 

They hasten on, for Appetite 

Has fangs upon them close and tight. 

In vain they struggle, strive in vain, 
To break the spell, to burst the chain; 
Cities of refuge all are passed, 
The helping hand is gone at last; 
On hurrying to their dreaful fate — 
Poor souls, poor souls! it is too late! 
You would not heed the golden hand. 
You would not list the warning voice: 
One pointed to the better land, 
One bade you make the better choice; 



74 Home Ballads. 

One pointed to fair cities forth, 
Which sit Hke jewels on the earth, 
On whose high portals, deep inwrought, 
Was "touch not, taste not, handle not." 




Polly Hone. 



o 



NCE an old crone 
Lived all alone; 
Her name was simply Polly Hone. 



Her sister dead, 

Her brother led 

A wandering life. She never wed. 

Her neighbors proud, 
She thought, aloud; 
Some better ones to find, she vowed; 

And vainly thought 
There surely ought 
Somewhere to be a better spot. 

The truth to own. 
Poor Polly Hone 
Disliked to live so much alone. 



y6 Home Ballads. 

So one day she 
Resolved to be 
A traveler, and the world to see. 

Too much, of late, 
She'd heard folks prate 
Of a new town in a new State. 

This town out west, 
She thought it best 
To seek; its name was Cozynest. 

Said she, "The keers, 
For one of years. 
Have many breakdowns, horrors, fears. 

'Twill give me time. 
And be sublime. 
To go by Foot & Walker's line." 

So, firm in mind. 
New scenes to find. 
She looked around, and felt resigned. 

Then leave she took 
Of vale and brook, 
Of quiet home — a cosy nook; 



Polly Hone. 77 

But, when set out 
Upon her route, 
Found many things to whine about: 

The wind was cold, 
Her garments old, 
The road had mud and mire untold. 

Still, fully bent 
On her intent. 
She traveled on, nor did relent. 

Day after day 
She jogged away. 
And never stopped to rest or pray, 

Till, nearly through 
Her route so new. 
Tired out, she knew not what to do; 

Her appetite. 
As well it might, 
Loud clamoring for food that night; 

To take some rest 
She thought it best, 
Ere she arrived at Cozynest. 



78 Home Ballads. 

A farmhouse lay- 
Just on her way, 
With lawn and garden green and gay; 

The door in sight 
Seemed to invite, 
With open arms, this wayworn wight. 

Admittance sought, 
Just as she ought. 
Her rap at length an answer brought. 

A matron came, 
(Her much I blame) 
To see a woman old and lame, 

Whose feet were sore, 
As at the door 
With staff and scrip she stood before. 

"Please, let me stay 
Tonight, I pray; 
To Cozynest I'm on my way." 

"I have no taste 
For vagrants — haste ; 
A tavern lies beyond the waste;" 



Polly Hone. 79 

And, pointing o'er 
A cold, bleak moor, 
Upon the woman closed the door . 

Poor Polly Hone 
Stood there alone; 
Then in a moment more had gone. 

The sun was low; 
The wind raved so. 
She must needs stop to pant and blow. 

The setting sun 
Had now begun 
To warn home trav'lers, one by one, 

But, when at last 
The day had past. 
Darkness she saw approaching fast. 

Cold hung the night; 
The stars blinked bright 
At Polly Hone in her sad plight 

Poor Polly Hone 
Would almost own 
She'd rather be at home alone. 



8o Home Ballads, 

At last a light 
Appeared in sight, 
Cheerfully shining through the night. 

Expectant, she 

Walked eagerly, 
Longing to grasp the "is to be"; 

She soon drew near 
To a small, queer 
And dingy-looking house; with fear 

Her knees did quake; 
She trembling spake 
To one who stood there, half awake 

And half asleep: 
"Pray, do you keep 
A tavern here, in this droll heap?" 

"Yes, ma'am; I do; 
And good fare, too; 
And room enough for likes o' you." 

And glad was she 
A place to see, 
Though poor, where yet some rest might be. 



Polly Hone. 8i 

A supper queer 
Was served her here — 
Potatoes, cabbage, bread and beer. 

When past, "a bed 
I'd like," she said, 
"On which to lay my weary head." 

Then she was led 
Unto a bed 
Of straw; and she was mad, she said, 

And made a vow 
She'd "raise a row, 
Before she'd pay 'em, anyhow." 

But sleep at last 
Her eyelids fast 
Sealed up, and bright dreams o'er her cast. 

Soon morning light 
Shone clear and bright, 
And woke her to her piteous plight. 

Her cloak, anon. 
She then put on. 
And, e'er they knew it, she had gone. 



82 Home Ballads. 

Soon Cozynest, 
Away out west, 
Gleamed on her sight — a place of rest. 

No steeple there, 
The house of prayer 
To mark — nor here, nor anywhere; 

And, looking round 
Awhile, she found 
Not much there to be seen but ground. 

A prairie wide 
Stretched on one side. 
On th' other great burr-oaks abide; 

So strange and new. 
She stopped to view 
The river slowly winding through. 

Too slow, too slow 
Its waters flow! 
No pebbles on its banks so low! 

And then at last 
She stood aghast, 
To see the people move so fast. 



' Polly Hone. 83 

The houses low, 
All in a row — 
Some things too fast, and some too slow. 

At length, the day 
Wearing away, 
She thought to find a place to stay — 

"Stop, ye ole croon; 
I'll hev yer, soon; 
Ye've bothered me from morn till noon." 

And looking back. 

Close on her track 

Her landlord came with all his pack. 

In blank dismay. 
She could not say 
One word; said he "I want my pay— ^ 

"Twelve shillings, mum; 
Hand over! come, 
Or the police 'ill give ye some." 

Too late, too late! 
The magistrate 
Of Cozynest was there in state. 



84 Home Ballads. 

Ah, well! thought she, 
I'll pay my fee, 
Then from annoyance I'll be free. 

The fee was paid; 
Still undismayed, 
She mused until her plan was laid. 

A house to find. 
She had in mind. 
Where she could live content, resigned. 

But such hard luck 
Had killed her pluck — 
Worried her brain; and there she stuck, 

Almost distraught. 
At length she thought. 
To make one effort more, I ought; 

And so, once more. 
From door to door, 
All Cozynest she traversed o'er. 

It did befall 
No house at all 
To sell or rent, nor large, nor small. 



Polly Hone. 85 

So in a huff 
She took some snufF, 
And thought she'd seen the world enough. 

The homeward track, 
With staff and pack, 
She took again, and traveled back. 

Once home again. 
She thought it vain 
To seek to flee from care and pain. ' 

And, wiser grown. 
She lives alone. 
Content to be poor Polly Hone. 

She sings away. 
The livelong day; 
Now list to what her song doth say: 

"Though friends have flown, 
And cares have grown. 
Be wise — let well enough alone; 

For it is plain 
That, all in vain. 
We seek for sunshine in the rain; 



86 Home Ballads. 

But, after rain, 

We look again. 

And sunshine dances o'er the plain. 

And all things wait, 
At Heaven's Gate, 
For pearls that never come too late. 

But on the wise. 
In deep disguise. 
They fall like raindrops from the skies. 

,So, after rain. 
We look again. 
And pearldrops gleam upon the plain.". 




Human Sympathy. 



ONCE, on a certain time, 
I fell to dreaming; 
The day was in decline — 
A twilight seeming. 

When in the dimness, lo! 

A great crowd hovered 
Upon an even plain, 

Completely covered. 

A crowd promiscuous. 
Of all sorts, gathered: 

The blind, the lame, the halt, 
The old and withered. 

The young, the rich, the poor. 
The tall, the meagre; 

And each one waiting there,. 
Expectant, eager. 



88 Home Ballads, 

And each a burden bore, 
Though well or ailing — 

'Twas large, or small, as each 
Could bear unfailing: 

When suddenly appeared 
A light most holy; 

From far above it came, 
Descending slowly, 

Till when, short space above 
The crowd it hovered, 

One wearing human form 
Could be discovered; 

A form of lovely mien, 
A maiden seeming. 

With pity, o'er the throng. 
Her mild eye beaming. 

Poised low in air, above 
The crowd she lingers; 

While pity issues from 
Her eyes, her fingers. 



Human Sympathy. 89 

To mitigate life's ills, 

Her chief concernment; 
While on her brow was traced 
" Want of discernment." 

And thus, at length, she spake, 
The silence breaking: 
"I came from heaven to soothe 
And cure your aching; 

Will linger here awhile — 

For many morrows; 
Then come! I have a balm 

For all your sorrows." 

A millionaire came first — 

At which I wondered — 
Who in a recent fire 

Had lost "five hundred;" 

The loss he seemed to feel 

Keenly, intensely; 
The sympathy he craved. 

He got immensely. 



90 



Home Ballads. 

An old man next advancecjj 
His head was hoary; 

In trembling accents he 
Told his sad story. 

A little balm he got, 

His grief abating, 
And then was thrust aside 

For others waiting. 

A maiden — pale and worn 
With constant tending 

Upon a mother sick, 
And slowly bending 

Beneath the weight of years 
And constant ailing — 

For Human Sympathy 
Came, unavailing. 

A lady, sweet and sad. 
Beneath her hovered; 

There, dressed in sable garb, 
Her grief uncovered: 



Human Sympathy, 

Two lovely infants lay 

As though they slumbered; 

They died while yet their age 
In months was numbered. 

A manly form laid low 

Beneath the willow; 
She'd shared with him. his cares, 

His bread, his pillow. 

Into her heart and ear 

Comfort distilling, 
Came Sympathy, her own 

True mission filling. 

A poor man next appeared, 
With reason shattered; 

'Twas plain the gutter had 
His clothes bespattered; 

Yet gentle Sympathy 

But one look gave him; 

And would not raise her soft, 
White hand to save him. 



92 Home Ballads. 

A lady, on whose face 
Was spread her trouble, 

Now told her thrilling tale: 
Her corns were double; 

And, sometimes it would seem. 
Her head ached badly; 

And of her aches and pains 
She murmured sadly. 

A generous slice she got. 

If I saw plainly, 
And still her business seemed 

To murmur, mainly. 

The blind, the lame, the poor. 

All helter-skelter. 
Next clamored on the stage 

For food and shelter; 

Some food and shelter found; 

Some but a meagre 
Award of sympathy, 

Altho' so eager; 



Human Sympathy, 93 

And some got kicks and cuffs, 

And maledictions; 
I wondered, in my dream, 

At these distinctions. 

The drunkard's children came 

To gain the treasure; 
To each she gave a small 

And stinted measure. 

The orphans next applied — 

And there were many; 
To some she gave full weight. 

To some, not any. 

This whole transaction was 

So farce-like seeming, 
I groaned, and rubbed my eyes. 

And woke from dreaming. 



Circumstance us. Proui6ence. 



CREATED things were new; 
God, in his grace, made Good, 
And sat her in her place — 
A presence fair to view. 
Then Evil came out from 
The nothingness of space— . . 
Admiring, sought to wed. 
Persistent, though she fled 
In haste his hateful form. 

At last she came to earth ; 
Wearied she lighted there; 
Lusting, he followed her, 
O'ercame her by a snare; 
Usurped her right of birth, 
And marred the things that were. 

Of Good and Evil born 

Was one, named Circumstance: 



Circumstance vs. Providence. 95 

She lay on earth forlorn; 

Men came and called her chance. 

God pitied when he saw, 

And gave to Circumstance. 

The realms of Earth — not Chance, 

Or arbitrary Law. 

One came and died for man, 

One bruised Evil's head; 

Evil became as dead; 

His doom was written then. 

Of Evil, all that came 

Were doomed — e'en Circumstance; 

And her misnomer, Chance, 

Was known no more by name. 

Thence towers a mystic plan. 
Majestic, broad and high; 
Its arms encircle Earth, 
Its head is in the sky; 
Law is the outside part, 
But Law is not the heart; 
By it God governs still, 
Through it He works His will, 
All wise and good, and makes 



g6 Home Ballads. 

Law rule the elements, 
And nothing jars or breaks. 
For God controls the springs 
That work such wondrous things 
To human sight and sense — 
Its name is Providence. 

Men cannot understand, . 
It is so broad and high; 
They see no head or hand. 
And so the whole deny. 
Through it God will restore 
To Good her rightful sway; 
Evil shall be no more — 
Like night, 'twill pass away 
When morn's bright rays are seen; 
And Good shall be Earth's queen. 
Bide patiently and wait, 
It will not come "too late." 



iBrace an6 3¥lay. 



SWEET little Grace, with her winning face, 
And her eyes so full of glee — 
Of the household all, both great and small, 
The pet and the darling, she. 

Poor little May is homely, they say. 
But good, and gentle, and mild; 

She blushes that she was born to be 
A drunkard's poor little child. 

Beautiful Grace, with smiles on her face, 
And love in her soft, brown eye, 

Runs to the gate to frolic and wait. 
And kiss dear papa good-bye. 

Poor little May, all the livelong day, 

Murmurs, nor falters, nor lags; 

The baby she tends, the stockings mends, 

And sews up the cai"pet-rags. 
7 



98 Home Ballads. 

Frolicsome Grace wears curls, with a trace 
Of mirth in her mouth and eye, 

She's pictures and books, a doll that looks 
Like a fay, and dolls that cry. 

Pensively May sits sewing away. 

But happy enough for that; 
She owns no toy, but gazes with joy 

At the pranks of her small cat. 

Happy is Grace; she has a large place 
In hearts both loving and true; 

She hears kind words, like chirping of birds, 
And words of good counsel, too. 

Pity poor May: she hears all the day 
Discord, and jarring, and strife; 

No kind words greet with melody sweet 
The dawn of her frail young life. 

A pitying eye looks from on high — 
That pitying name is Love; 

All, all is well; He calls her to dwell 
With Him and angels above. 



36a, 



MARCH winds shake the window pane, 
Chase the clouds and bear the rain; 
Pause, and their commotion cease, 
For the hour fore-shadows Peace. 

Lo! the setting sun, at last. 
Hues of red and amber cast 
O'er the clouds; and overhead 
Gleams a fair fantastic red — 
Throws a gleam of promise round, 
Over tree, and roof, and ground. 
And the cottage window where 
Lay a mother, pale and fair; 
Little angel baby sweet, 
Sunshine comes, your birth to greet; 
Wind and storm their tumult cease. 
For the hour is one of Peace. 

Mother looks into her eyes. 
Opening with glad surprise — 



lOO Home Ballads. 

Eyes of deep and mellow blue — 
Reading them as mothers do; 
Joyfully essayed to speak, 
Answering, and kissed her cheek. 

Little golden angel, where 

Did you lose your wings so fair? 

Glad am I they dropped today, 

So you cannot fly away; 

Now you're mine to have and keep, 

Mine awake and mine asleep; 

Babyhood and girlhood mine. 

Mine in womanhood to shine — 

Wondrous beauty, born for fame, 

Peerless Ida is your name. 

Ida crowed, and smiled, and grew, 

Day by day, as babies do; 

Tiny hands and tiny feet. 

Dimpled cheeks, and lips so sweet; 

Light brown hair with tinge of red. 

Curled in cues all o'er her head; 

Wept, and slept, and dreamed, and smiled — 

Beautiful, precocious child. 



Ida. IP I 

High of brow and pale of cheek, 
Mother watched from week to week — 
Woke and watched both night and day, 
Watched her sleep and watched her play; 
Soothed her infantile distress — 
Love dispelling weariness. 

But the autumn time, at last. 
Over earth his mantle cast — 
Gay of color, cold of breath; 
Lo! the obvious import Death. 

Death! But oh! he loves the fair; 

Loves the pure and spotless, rare; 

Loves the good, and loves the wise; 

Loves the ones we love and prize. 

Ida died. A mother's love 

Could not shield her baby dove 

From Death's chilling touch. How meek 

Mother's love! how sti'ong, how weak! 

Give Death all he asks, 'tis vain 

To remonstrate in your pain. 

Ida dead! a tiny rose, 
Fallen off at even's close, 



I02 • Home Ballads. 

Sweetly yielded up her breath, 
More than beautiful in death; 
Like a smitten cherub lay 
In her coffin, cold as clay; 
Like a pure and precious gem, 
Worn in seraph's diadem, 
Falling jarred, bewildered, chilled; 
So, a little grave was filled. 

Friends were there to sympathize 
With the mother — with surprise 
Saw her face so pale and white — 
Then laid Ida out of sight. 

Then the mother softly stepped, 
Stood and looked, but never wept; 
How her purposes were crossed — 
Ida dead and Ida lost! 
All was gone, the world a blank! 
None to love and none to thank! 
All her plans of future bliss 
Blown to atoms! worse than this, 
Ida in some di'eadful place, 
With companions vile and base! 



Ida. 103 

Dreams of terror and of pain 
Fretted her disordered brain; 
So her sisters came and said, 
She is crazed, or out of head. 

Ida's mother silence kept — 
Pined and paled, but never wept; 
Missed the burden from her arms, 
Missed her winning baby charms. 
Missed her cunning, artless grace. 
Missed her little dimpled face: 
Tried to pray; but prayer was caught 
In the wings of roving thought; 
And oft times she feared the Lord 
Had forgotten His kind word; 
Thought, if He remembered her, 
'Twas with hate for sins that were: 
Thus we judge. the Almighty's plan 
By the littleness of man. 

How the mother longed to see 
Baby as she used to be! 
Or of her to get a glance, 
In a dream or in a trance; 



I04 Home Ballads. 

Murmured, prayed, and then she wept, 
Prayed again, and softly slept: 
Dreamed? or was it really so? 
Answer, mothers, you that know. 
Lo! a radiant form divine. 
Being's essence full, divine. 
Fount of love and Love's own Name, 
To the mother's bedside came; 
Presence peerless! Overawed 
Mother lay, for It was God. 

In His loving arms He bore 
Ida as she was before — 
Ida as she used to be; 
But more beautiful was she; 
Far more blessed, sweet and fair 
Looked she, as she nestled there. 
Mother did not speak or stir, 
Or attempt to get at her; 
Evermore she could resign 
Her to Being so divine. 

Jesus spake, and to her said: 
In my arms your babe is laid; 



Ida. 105 

I, the Shepherd of the sheep, 
Do your tender lambkin keep — 
Take her from your arms, but from 
Evil that would swiftly come; 
Take her from your sight, to raise 
You to higher thoughts and ways; 
And prevent you clinging so 
To the perishing below. 
Do not judge Jehovah's plan 
By the deeds of puny man ; 
But resign her to My love. 
And your lost one find above; 
For I hold your baby, blest, 
Safe within my loving breast; 
She shall always here remain, 
Free from sin, secure from pain. 




Che Snoui-Storm. 



A CLOUD of snow, one cold winter's day, 
Wrapped in the halo of sunset, lay 
Nestling dreamily there alone 
In the golden light where the sun went down, 
Till stars shone out, and the moon rose high 
Up to the top of the azure sky. 

Then it crept around, till close in among 
The specks of light where the pole-star hung, 
And slept till northern lights danced so high 
They touched the moon in the top of the sky; 
Then it rolled itself up in a sable vest, 
And dreamed till the moon had gone to rest. 

At last, when aurora's finger-tips 
Touched the brow of the eastern hills, 
Silently opening eyes and lips. 
The dome above with her mantle fills; 
Then did the waiting snow-storm espy 
The chariot of storm-king coming nigh, 
So they join hands, and away they fly. 



llie Snow-Storm. \o*l 

Far over the hills and lofty mounts, 

And over the vales and frozen founts, 

By the halls of the rich, and cots of the poor, 

They piled the snow up high at each door; 

Then over the fields and gardens fair. 

Over a little grave, cold and bare; 

Then storm-king paused, and his soul was stirred, 

For a baby's voice from the grave he heard. 

" Moldering deep in the grave I sleep. 
And mamma weeps as the cold winds creep 
Through chinks in her humble cottage door, 
While the cold storm wildly surges o'er. 
O, beautiful snow! she loved me well; 
And you, so pure, alone, can I tell 
How papa came home so crazed one night 
With rum, he shut out ma from my sight; 
And I, the baby, was left alone 
To weep or sleep on the cold hearth-stone. 
He then sank down on the floor, and slept, 
And I to my papa's side close crept. 
With mamma shut out in the cold, cold storm; 
I lay there wondering, still and warm — 



io8 Home Ballads. 

Too still and warm, for something close press'd 
Over my head and over my breast: 
And so I died; for papa lay on 
And smothered to death his little son. 
With a burning tear ma buried me here, 
And 1 thought, as you came so close and near, 
And your soft, w^hite hand so gently press'd, 
O, beautiful snow! on my cold, cold breast,. 
I'd tell it to you; and now you know, 
Beautiful, beautiful, cold, white snow!" 

Mournfully sighing, sadly and slow. 
The cold wind warmed into murmurs low; 
And the drifting snow above the main. 
Melting to tears, descended like rain — 
Wept o'er the ignorant, wise and witty, 
Wept o'er the hamlet, the town and city, 
Wept over forest, mountain and plain, 
Plentiful showers of cold, cold rain; 
Then ceased. 



3 msh. 

I WISH I had a little house, 
A little parlor in it; 
I wish I had a pie to make, 
I'd hasten to begin it. 

I wish I had an organ, and 
An everlasting play-day; 

I wish I had a silk dress on, 
Then I should be a lady. 

I wish I had a ship at sea, 
Loaded with silks and laces, 

Six costly shawls, and tapestry — 
About a hundred cases. 

I wish I had a bookcase stout, 
Of little books and big books; 

A river full of pike and trout, 
And " forty-'leven " fish-hooks. 



no Home Ballads. 



I wish I had a shiny day, 

Around a great, big mountain; 

I wish I was a girl at play 
Beside a splashing fountain. 

I wish I had a somebody 
To worry and to tease me; 

I wish I had a bumble-bee, 
I'd let him buzz to please me. 

I wish I had ten thousand pounds, 
And half a pound of candy; 

I wish I had a small greyhound, 
And cat to fight him, handy. 

I wish I had a ruby lip. 

Like two red, mellow cherries; 

I wish I had two eyes to look 
Just like two huckleberries. 

I wish I had a horse and shay, 

I'd make a celebration. 
And take a ride, some pleasant day, 

Over the wide creation. 



/ Wish. iir 

I wish I had some stout wings made; 

I'd fly up to the moon, and 
Investigate its Hght and shade, 

Some pleasant night in June; and — 

I wis,h I had a telescope. 

To sweep the constellations; 
I wish I had a key to ope 

Some strange hallucinations. 

I wish — I wish — I wish — I wish — 

I wish I was a poet; 
I wish I had a new hat — I 

Would go somewhere to show it. 




T^oman's Bights. 



PLEASE listen, ye croakers and praters! 
Who gabble of women and Rights, 
As though we were made to hoe 'taters, 
Or mix in political fights. 

Your way through the crowd you can elbow, 

You delicate lady, to vote; 
Your dutiful husband remaining 

At home, "just to mend up his coat." 

On 'lection day make us a stump-speech, 
Make money, make love, and flour; 

When Jeff raises Ned, raise an army. 
And fight for your country and power. 

Or shovel your way to the stable. 

On a bright, cold wintry day, 
To put on the harness and bridle. 

And hitch up old Bob to the sleigh; 



Woman's Rights. ,, iig 

Ride over to pretty young Maister's, 

And ask if he pleases to go 
A sleighing, this beautiful morning, 

Far over the beautiful snow. 

And then, if he deigns to say "yes, ma'am," 

You boost him so gracefully in, 
The buffalo robes tuck about him, 

Close up to his whiskers and chin. 

Scrape off all the snow from your small feet, 

And get in the other side; 
Then take up the whip and the bridle, 

And so swiftly away you glide. 

O! what upon earth are you thinking 

And a driving at, all your lives? 
You may gather bushels of honey. 

If you don't tip over the hives. 

Pray, let the world be as God made it; 

Let the masculines still be men; 
Let them build all the railroads they can, 

You can "boss" as to where and when. 



114 



Home Ballads. 

Broad fields now lie open before you: — 
Home, colleges, clerkships and pen; 

Avail you of all, if you please to, 
But, oh! don't you try to be men. 





IThe "^orlb in Antithesis, 



?'' I "^ IS a good and a bad world, 
_|_ A world old and new; 

A happy and sad world, 
A world false and true. 

'Tis a large and a small world, 

A silent and loud; 
A heavy and light world 

Of sunshine and cloud. 

'Tis a slow and a fast world, 
'Tis dark and 'tis light; 

It is mystical, plain, 

'Tis black and 'tis white. 

'Tis a wet and a dry world, 

Unlovely and fair; 
A selfishly just world, 

A common and rare. 



Ii6 Home Ballads. 

'Tis a rich and a poor world, 

A foolish and wise; 
A noble and mean world 

Of plausible lies. 

'Tis a bitter and sweet world — 

A kiss and a blow; 
A noisy and still world, 

A friend and a foe. 

'Tis a strange and a queer world; 

'Tis haughty and meek; 
A long and a short world; 

'Tis strong and 'tis weak. 

'Tis a tender and tough world; 

'Tis crooked and straight; 
A pure and a vile world . 

Of love and of hate. 

'Tis a jovial and sad world, 
'Tis gay and 'tis grave; 

'Tis sober and drunken, 
A master and slave. 



The World in Antithesis. il'j 

'Tis a crazy and sane world, 

'Tis dirty and clean; 
'Tis idle, 'tis busy, 

'Tis fat and 'tis lean. 

It is lavish and stingy, 

'Tis hungry and full; 
A hot and a cold world, 

A lively and dull. 

'Tis a smooth and a rough world, 

'Tis cruel and kind; 
'Tis civilized, savage, 

'Tis rough and refined. 

'Tis a high and a low world, 

The meanest and best; 
A noisy and calm world 

Of labor and rest. 

'Tis a blest and a curst world, 
Thoughtful and thoughtless; 
A right and a wrong world, 
Faulty and faultless. 



Ii8 Home Ballads. 

'Tis a half and a whole world; 

Real and seeming, 
A rested and tired world, 

Doing and dreaming. 

'Tis an honored, despised world; 

It walks and it rides. 
It crawls and it flies with 

The winds and the tides; 

And it goes with a jingle 
By water and steam; 

'Tis made up of pickles, 
And candy, and cream. 

It is broad at the front and 

Contracted behind; 
'Tis genial, friendly, 

'Tis cold and unkind. 

'Tis a talkative, dumb world, 

Serious and vain; 
A strangely mixed-up world 

Of pleasure and pain. 



jRFlen an6 T3domen. 



A LIFETIME it takes you men to get rich, 
And, when you get rich, you die; — 
Better spread your energies doing good, 
And laying up stores on high. 

There is only one coin that is current above. 

One Bank that will never fail; 
That coin you can get upon earth — 'tis Love, 

And the bank is beyond the vale. 

Ye love to gather you silver and gold, 

And houses and lands so fair; 
What loss, should the water and fire sweep all, 

If you have a mansion there? 

It takes you women a lifetime of toil 

To follow the style, and flirt; 
Better spend your energies doing good. 

Or mending your husband's shirt. 



I20 Home Ballads. 

There is only one style where you go at last — 
One style for the rich and poor! 

And the hearse is waiting for all of us — 
It may be close to our door. 

Ye love to gather you jewels and gold 

Of curious, rare device; 
Should you own no glittering gem, what loss, 

If you have the Pearl of Price. 

Fair women! your elegant styles are vain; 

Your bodies will turn to dust; 
And men, the treasures you've piled so high 

Will soon be consumed by rust. 

Take a medium — for the Irishman said 
"There is a middle extrame" — 

Not hurry and worry for wealth and style — 
For a useless, idle dream. 

But, oh! there are treasures that never fade — 
One style, and that style is love; 

The orders are Jilled in this world of ours. 
And they will be cashed okiO^Q, 



Song of theT3din6. 



I COME from the mystical zones of earth — 
The banqueting halls of Thunder; 
From the cradle of storm, with noise and mirth, 

I mount up with joy and wonder; 
I blow, and I blow, and carry the snow, 

Piling it higher and higher, 
As hither I come, and thither I go, 
Crazy with mirth or ire. 

Then I scale the hilltops towering high, 

I scale the loftiest mountain; 
I scale the dumb clouds, and I touch the sky, 

And play with the flowing fountain; 
I moan with pain, and I carry the rain 

Down to the slumbering city. 
And I patter and pour on roof and door. 

In anger or in pity. 



122 Home Ballads. 

I kiss the wet sand on the sweet seaside, 

And launch on the tranquil ocean; 
I goad her bosom to anger, and ride 

On Terror amid commotion; 
I baffle the ships that are out at sea, 

I plague the mariner toiling; 
And tumble their freight of humanity 

Into the ocean boiling. 

I carry the clouds, all blackened with death, 

And hurricane on my shoulder; — 
I moan through the gorge with abated breath, 

And carve my name on the boulder; 
I blow their houses out into the street, 

I toy with trees of the wildwood; 
And carry, wherever my forces meet. 

Terror to age and childhood. 

I pause and blow, breathing softly and slow, 

Over fields of grain and clover; 
Sweet odors I bring on feathery wing 

To the maiden and her lover. 
But I come from the mystical zones of earth, 

The banqueting halls of Thunder; 
The cradle of Storm with music and mirth 

I rise and fly from under. 



Sunshine. 

GREET the golden sunshine, 
Blessing as it flies, 
Silently and swiftly, 

From the cloudless skies; 
Like the vale of heaven, 

Mystically bright, 
Fluttering to earthward, 
Dissipates the night. 

Falling like a blessing 

On the leaf and flower; 
Lifting up the dew-drop 

From the summer bower; 
Wakes the joy of morning, 

Wakes the happy bird; 
Harmony and gladness 

Everywhere are heard. 

Shine, oh! shine upon us, 
Till all discords cease. 



124 



Home Ballads. 

And the earth reposes 
In the arms of Peace! 

Shine! oh, shine in splendor 
From thy throne above, 

Till the earth is circled 
In the arms of Love! 

Then shine on, forever, 

And forever still! 
Haste to do the bidding 

Of thy Maker's will, 
Haste to bless His creatures. 

As thou hast before, 
And shine on forever, 

And forever more! 




Angels' Uisits, 



A DREAM. 

DO they watch, and do they wait 
For the weal of mortals? 
Do they come from heaven's gate 

E'en to death's dim portals? 
Do the angels visit men 

When all things confuse us? 

Do they come to help us when 

Friends mistake, misuse us? 

Slumber deep the eyelids close, 

Welcome to the weary; 
Tired nature could repose, 

Though the night hung dreary; 
Thought alone was wakeful, still 

Would escape the prisoned 
Mysteries that would flit and thrill 

Through the brain bedizened. 



126 Home Ballads. 

Then anon the darkness sped, 

For a light was dawning; 
Through the room a radiance shed, 

Brighter far than morning; 
And a form beside me stood — 

Beautiful, undying — 
Pinions poised, as though he would. 

Soon to heaven be flying. 

As I held the open word. 

Trembling, half aflfrighted. 
How my very soul was stirred, 

Comforted, delighted! 
Hands immortal, unconstrained. 

Traced each verse most sweetly. 
And immortal tongue explained 

All to me completely. 

Drink, my soul! thy fill of light — 

Drink thy fill of pleasure! 
Grasp the sacred boon tonight — 

Grasp the golden treasure! 
But the vision tarries not. 

Shadows round me gather; 
Darkness broods; I was, methought, 

Dreaming altogether. 



iBuarbian Angels. 



"Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for those 
who shall be heirs of salvation?" — Paul, 



SPIRITS are light, and oft repose 
On piles of sunset clouds at even, 
Or, poised in air, their pinions close, 

A space midway 'twixt earth and heaven. 

There, whether good or whether bad, 

Sent, albeit, by God or devil, 
They lure us, and we follow glad 

The path we choose, for good or evil. 

When sickness, pain or death appears. 
The good ones ever round us hover — 

Shield us from danger, wipe our tears, 

Our couch of pain their kind wings cover. 

They soothe our grief; guard our repose; 

They wait for us at heaven's portal, 
Thence sent to minister to those 

Who shall be heirs of life immortal. 



138 Home Ballads. 

And oft, when Evil throws his darts, 

With thought malign, so thick around us. 

Their gentle breathings touch our hearts, 
Their own soft wings, forsooth, surround us. 

And stronger grow the chords that bind 
Our willing souls to the Supernal, 

While Hope exults, and Faith entwines 
Around us arms of Love eternal. 

And when, at last, the touch of Death 
From fear of Sin or sinning frees us. 

In arms of Love, on wings of Faith, 
They bear our happy souls to Jesus. 




Sonnet. 



IN vain we seek on earth to find 
A place adapted to our mind; 
There's trouble here, annoyance there, 
And inconvenience everywhere; 
While blessings that are so mixed up 
With pain in every human cup 
Are overlooked, or scarce discerned, 
Sometimes despised, or madly spurned. 
Like some abominated thing; 
And so away on magic wing 
They fly. And, when they're half forgot, 
We stop, and ponder, and relent. 
And recognize their kind intent. 

And would recall them, but cannot. 
9 



Deferred. 

GHOSTS of the past! They're buried; let them 
I would not resurrect them, or deny [lie; 

But that "it might have been" in days gone by. 

'Tis over, now; and patiently I wait 

Who comes to welcome me at heaven's gate, 

And claim me for his own true spirit's mate. 

And yet, I miss the genial light that shone 
From kindred eyes, so fond, into my own — 
Miss the strong arm, and grope along alone. 

Yet not alone; for lo! a cheering ray 

Shines o'er my path. God knoweth still my way. 

And angels chant to me from day to day. 

'Tis better thus to be, than to be wed 

To one whose eye congenial light has fled — 

The shadow of affection cold and dead; 



Deferred. 



131 



Or to a drunkard, knave, or fool, or all 

Combined in one. Forsooth, Fear's carnival 

Would hold strange revel prone beneath Hate's pall. 

So may it be. The good Lord keep, I pray. 

Our blighted buds, until in heaven's day 

They put forth bloom that ne'er shall fade away. 




LOVE is most divinely fair; 
a Love vs^ill live forever — 
Azure eyes and golden hair, 

Changing never, never. 
Oh, my Love, thou art divine 

Essence pure of heaven; 
Never rapture such as mine 
Unto mortal given! 

But my Love is dead, is dead; 

Wrap him in a shadow; 
Smooth a pillow for his head 

In the silent meadow. 
Cease my heart to thrill, to thrill, 

Break not with your sorrow; 
Love is Love, immortal still, 

Love will rise tomorrow! 




Color. 

COLOR is beauty, and beauty 
Sits on the leaf and flower, 
Clothing the trees of the forest. 
Draping the summer bower. 

Seeking the hills and the valleys, 
The fields and the gardens fair; 

Touching them in her gladness. 
She traces her image there. 

Fair green is the dearest color 
God to nature has given; 

But green is only a shadow 
Of verdant hills in heaven. 

Red loves the tulips and roses. 
Red is the color of love; 

But red is only the token 
Of perfected hues above. 



134 Ho7ne Ballads. 

The yellow that gilds the sunset 
Light and beauty has given, 

Is only a faded picture 

Of brighter scenes in heaven. 

Tomorrow our eyes will open, 
And the clod will fall away; 

New tints then shall gild the dawning 
Of a never-ending day. 




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